


The heat of the moment

by BearlyWriting



Series: SladeRobin Week 2020 [2]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Biting, Bottom Slade Wilson, Day 4: Same dynamic omegaverse, Drug-Induced Heat, Dubious Consent, Fisting, M/M, Omega Dick Grayson, Omega Slade Wilson, Omega/Omega, SladeRobin Week 2020, Top Dick Grayson
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-29
Updated: 2020-10-29
Packaged: 2021-03-08 23:00:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27254590
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BearlyWriting/pseuds/BearlyWriting
Summary: “This close, the smell of in-heat omega hits Dick like a punch to the gut.“It’s you,” Dick gasps, loud in the quiet of the alleyway. “You’re the omega.””For the SladeRobin Week prompt Same Dynamic Omegaverse.
Relationships: Dick Grayson/Slade Wilson
Series: SladeRobin Week 2020 [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1986958
Comments: 6
Kudos: 89
Collections: SladeRobin Week 2020





	The heat of the moment

**Author's Note:**

> Day 4 of SladeRobin! I hope you guys enjoy! :)
> 
> The dubious consent is purely because Slade has been drugged into heat, otherwise everything is perfectly consensual!

The scent is like nothing Dick has ever smelled before. Thick and bitter, like the iron tang of blood, with a strange, sweet aftertaste. Dick lifts his nose to it automatically. The air is thick with pollution, as always, but the recent rain has left it clearer than usual. Dick’s nose twitches. A soft breeze tugs at his hair, bringing the scent with it again. 

It’s coming from the East. Dick turns to squint across the rooftops but he can’t see anything from this distance. That means the scent must be pretty strong. Dick’s nose is better than most omegas’ but still not as well developed as an alpha’s. If he can smell it so clearly and not see the source...someone is in trouble.

The only time someone’s scent is that strong is during heat or rut. Even then, it’s usually far more muted. In most cases, you should only be able to smell it if you’re in reasonably close range.

Then again, they could be hidden in one of the alleyways nearby and Dick just hasn’t seen them yet. Either way, an omega in heat - or even an alpha in rut - out on the Gotham streets at night is bad news. They could be in serious danger - or a danger to someone else.

So Dick follows the scent as best he can, leaping agilely across the rooftops, pausing at every alleyway to sniff at the darkness below. The scent gets gradually stronger, thickening until the air feels almost soupy and Dick still hasn’t caught sight of anyone. This close though, he can tell that it’s an omega - the odd sweet note is a dead give-away for heat and anyone that gets close enough will be able to tell that too. The thought makes him a little frantic. He can’t smell any alphas nearby, but the strength of the omega could just be blocking them out. If Dick doesn’t find them soon…

He leaps across to one of the lower rooftops, keeping his eye on the alleyway below as he sails over it, and runs right into Deathstroke.

Dick ducks to the right, springing out of the light crouch he’d landed in and rolling a little distance away from the mercenary. The smell is so strong now, it’s almost overwhelming and the sudden appearance of Slade Wilson can only spell bad things.

“Deathstroke,” Dick hisses, as he settles into a fighting stance. “What are you doing here?”

Slade doesn’t answer immediately. For a moment he just stares, stock still at the edge of the rooftop. His single eye is wide and gleaming in the low light. No mask, Dick notes.

Slade blinks. “Nightwing?” He croaks and it sounds so unlike him that it sends a shiver down Dick’s spine.

Dick pushes that sensation away - he can’t afford to be distracted if he’s going to have to fight Deathstroke the Terminator - and draws his escrima sticks slowly out of their holster. Slade’s gaze snaps to the action.

“Where’s the omega?” Dick growls, low enough to pass for the alpha Slade might still believe him to be.

Slade cocks his head curiously. The movement draws Dick’s gaze to Slade’s throat - the torn-open collar of his uniform, the dark gashes slashed into the skin beneath his jaw, right over his scent gland, blood gleaming wet on his throat and splashed all the way up to his cheek.

Dick startles a little. It’s not rare to see Deathstroke covered in blood, but usually it isn’t his own. Dick isn’t sure if he’s ever actually seen Slade injured before. Had the omega gotten a lucky strike in? Had they been fighting Slade? Had Slade been trying to hurt them or had they attacked him because they were scared?

“Omega?” Slade asks. The word is strangely slurred. Slade’s single eye looks too bright, reflecting the low light from one of the nearby windows. Even in the darkness, Dick can see that his face is flushed, pink and damp beneath the spray of blood.

Something is definitely wrong.

“Don't pretend you can’t smell them, Slade. What have you done with them?”

Slade lifts his head, scenting the air in an irritatingly exaggerated motion. Dick grits his teeth and tightens his grip on his excrimas, half-expecting Slade to grin. To gloat. Instead, the mercenary’s single eye widens, his hand flies up to his throat. Then, as suddenly as he had appeared out of the darkness, he’s springing backwards, disappearing over the edge of the building in one quick movement.

“Shit,” Dick curses, holstering his weapons even as he moves swiftly to the edge Slade had launched himself off. It’s an easy drop for the mercenary and Dick can just make out his dim orange figure disappearing into one of the alleyways before he launches himself after him.

It’s a less easy drop for Dick, but he rolls with the landing, negating the worst of the jarring impact of the fall. Slade has a good head start on him, but Dick has never been one to give up on a chase and Wilson is injured. If he plays this right, Dick can catch up to Slade and find the poor omega and call this a successful night.

In the end, it’s surprisingly easy to catch up to Slade. He hasn’t gone far, after all. Infact, Dick almost runs into him as he slips into the alley he’d seen him disappear into, running full pelt based on the - apparently mistaken - assumption that Slade would already be long gone.

He isn’t.

Slade is leaning heavily against one of the grimy brick walls just inside the entrance of the alley. One arm is braced on the wall above him, his muscular body bent forward to press his forehead against it, his back to the alleyway behind him and anyone who might sneak up on him. It’s a surprisingly vulnerable position and it brings Dick up short, bouncing up onto his toes as his momentum tries to carry him forward.

“Deathstroke?” he asks, and this time the word is softer - no longer the almost-alpha growl he’d used before. 

The stink of omega is still surprisingly strong, as if the poor thing is standing in the alley with them. Dick’s nose wrinkles even as he steps forward, scanning the darkness around them, before snapping his attention back to the dangerous mercenary currently holding himself up against the wall.

“Tell me what’s -”

Deathstroke whips around so fast that Dick doesn’t have time to avoid the blow. He takes the hit hard on the cheek, his head jerking backwards, his whole body bowing in an attempt to follow the momentum. It’s too sudden to really hurt right away but Dick feels it reverberate through his skull. Feels his feet stumble beneath him as he fights to keep his balance. For a moment, it feels as though his whole brain is offline, knocked straight out of his head by the power of Slade’s fist. 

But his body, trained over years of vigilante-ism, reacts without the need for thought. His feet right themselves, then brace against the damp concrete to push himself forward for a retaliating blow. Slade’s punch was hard - they’re always hard, always almost bone-shattering - but clumsy. It’s left his chest wide open in a way that Slade would normally never allow and Dick presses the advantage. Ducks beneath Slade’s outstretched arm and delivers a quick elbow to his exposed ribs. Twirls to the right so he can grip Slade’s arm as he automatically flinches to cover the injury, sweeping his foot out to knock Slade’s legs out from under him. It’s a move that normally wouldn’t work on the mercenary but this time Slade stumbles, then crashes heavily to the ground.

Dick follows him down, swinging one leg over him to pin his hips against the concrete, holding one arm to the ground with a punishing grip. Slade writhes under him automatically, bucking in a vain attempt to dislodge Dick, but it’s with none of his normal strength or finesse. This close, Dick can see the flush on his cheeks has spread all the way down his throat, painting the skin exposed by the gaping collar of his uniform. The gashes on his neck have already healed, but streaks of dark blood still gleam wetly right over the scent gland beneath his jaw. 

This close, the smell of in-heat omega hits Dick like a punch to the gut.

“It’s you,” Dick gasps, loud in the quiet of the alleyway. “You’re the omega.”

Dick could kick himself. It’s obvious now that Dick is close enough to see the signs. The smell alone should have tipped him off long before now - the flush on his cheeks, too, the way he’s panting like he’s run a marathon although they’ve barely fought, the gashes right over where Slade would normally cover his glands with blockers so strong that Dick has never actually smelled him before.

It should have been so obvious but Dick was sure - he was so fucking _sure_ \- that Slade was an alpha. Everything about the other man screams alpha. The height and muscle that omegas can so rarely manage. The aggression and confidence and damned entitled attitude. And Dick knows that omegas can be strong and fast and tall - hey, Dick himself is an example of an omega that doesn’t exactly fit the stereotype - but the thought of Slade Wilson, _Deathstroke_ , as an omega is almost laughable.

The scent that’s hitting Dick like a brick wall to the face is hardly laughable, though.

“No,” Slade growls. He seems to have gone limp beneath Dick’s weight though. One of his arms is still free, but he makes no attempt to hit Dick, or even dislodge him. The word seems to take him an enormous effort too, as if he doesn’t quite have the air in his lungs to squeeze it out. “Not - not an omega, _Grayson_. I should -” a hard swallow. A noise that’s almost a whine, “I should kill you for fucking - fucking suggesting it.”

Dick tightens his grip on Slade’s arm and leans down enough to brush his nose over the bristly skin of Slade’s jaw. A wounded little noise escapes the man below him as he does so, something small and bitten off but audible all the same. It makes Dick’s chest clench. Makes his whole body flush, something hot coiling deep in his gut. The scent doesn’t help, either, metal and gunpowder and petrichor. Before he can stop himself, a low, comforting omega croon is spilling out of his throat.

Slade’s whole body tenses at that, thick muscle bunching beneath Dick’s thighs in a way that sends a sudden pulse of arousal right through Dick’s gut, before abruptly going limp. “Don’t,” Slade growls, alpha low. “Get the fuck off me Grayson before I make you get off me.”

Dick hums. Now that the imminent danger has passed, he feels strangely light, his whole body warm. Slade is thick and solid between his thighs. The scent of his heat is making Dick dizzy.

“I don’t think you can make me do anything in this condition. You’re in heat, Slade, and it looks like it’s hit you hard.”

“Do you think i don’t know that?” Slade snaps. Then ruins the harshness of the words with several quick, breathy pants. “Get off of me and I can go take care of it.”

He should. Sure, Deathstroke is a mercenary - someone Dick certainly shouldn’t be letting roam the streets of Gotham if he can help it - but, he and Slade have always had a strange relationship. It’s not as if Dick has never let Deathstroke leave unimpeded before and it’s hardly likely that Slade is going to do any damage in the state he’s in. It’s just...something primal in Dick is being affected by that _smell_ and the fact that he has the other omega beneath him. Every instinct in his body is screaming at him to force Slade to submit, to prove his dominance and take his prize.

Dick knows that isn’t exactly normal omega behaviour, but then, neither he nor Slade are normal omegas. And, besides, omegas can be as possessive as any alpha. Dick isn’t about to let Slade go so easily.

“I didn’t know you were an omega.”

“Good,” Slade grits out. He still hasn’t really tried to properly dislodge Dick yet though. Even in this condition, with his enhanced strength he could probably do it. “Forget you know it now.”

Dick ignores that. With his free hand, he strokes lightly over the exposed skin of Deathstroke's neck, brushing over the swollen, leaking gland beneath his jaw. Slade jerks at the contact, stifling a jagged moan behind his teeth and electricity shoots right through Dick. He shifts his hips, feeling his cock twitch in the confines of his suit.

“What happened?” he asks, instead of giving in to the urge to grind himself down against Slade. “You’re too old to be getting caught unawares by your heat.”

Slade’s eye flutters. His own hips twitch. “Drugged,” he manages and Dick goes cold, feeling his arousal abruptly die. “They got the fucking jump on me and...injected me with something. I got away but -“ he cuts himself off with a groan. “First heat I’ve had in a long time.”

Of course. Dick doesn’t doubt that Slade hasn’t had a heat in a long time. Omegas aren’t exactly well-known for being strong or ruthless or competent - even if that’s only a nasty stereotype with no real basis in the truth. Being an omega is hardly something Slade would have wanted to advertise and having heats in Slade’s line of work? Well, Dick isn’t surprised that Slade would want to suppress them. With his enhancements, Slade could probably have successfully avoided a heat for years with no real ill-effects. But if someone has discovered his status and used drugs to induce a heat after years of suppressants? Well, Dick is impressed that Slade had even managed to stand upright, let alone throw himself off of a building. Dick is impressed that Slade can even still talk.

Dick has had plenty of bad heats himself, but he doubts any of them can compare to a drug-induced heat after literal years of suppressant abuse.

“Jesus, Slade,” Dick breathes. 

Then he pushes himself upright, shifting his grip on Slade’s arm to pull him with him. The mercenary sways, blinking rapidly at the sudden shift to being upright. Dick ducks under one arm to help steady him. Even through both of their armour, Dick can feel the heat of him.

“Come on. You shouldn’t be out on the street. Tell me where to take you.”

⁂

Slade’s safehouse is surprisingly homely. For some reason, Dick had been expecting bare concrete floors, a single bed, and drafty windows. But when he shoulders his way through the door, dragging a disturbingly pliant Slade with him, it opens up into a warm, clean living space, complete with two squashy-looking couches and a widescreen TV. There’s a little kitchen, too, tucked into the corner. Small but functional and as clean as the rest of the apartment.

Dick doesn’t take his time looking around, though. Slade is still coherent and he’s mostly holding his own weight, but Dick wants to get him to his room as soon as possible and get out of here. The proximity to Slade and that rich heat-scent is making him painfully, embarrassingly aroused. He wouldn’t be surprised if the crotch of his uniform is already soaked through with slick and his cock is straining against his jock with every step. Dick needs to dump Slade and get back into the fresh air before he does anything too embarrassing, like cumming in his pants like some horny teenager.

“Bedroom?” he asks and Slade tilts his head towards one of the doors set into the wall with a soft grunt. The other must be the bathroom, Dick assumes, but he doesn’t bother to stop to wash up, just drags Slade across the room and pushes the door open.

The bedroom is smaller than Dick was expecting, mostly dominated by the bed in the centre of the room. Dick makes a beeline for it, heaving Deathstroke onto the mattress the moment he’s close enough. Slade lands easily enough, bouncing a little, and immediately presses his face into the sheets below him with a little whimper that Dick is sure he wasn’t supposed to hear.

Dick’s throat is so tight it feels hard to breathe. If someone had told him that Slade was an omega - that Dick could ever find him in heat, that he would ever see the famed mercenary whimpering into his sheets, face flushed and sweaty - Dick would have laughed in their face. 

Faced with that very fact now, though, Dick feels a strange mix of discomfort and arousal. Normally, Slade is so utterly in control, always seeming a step or two ahead of everyone else, always completely sure of his body and its limits. Seeing him like this is both thrilling and frightening.

“I’ll - uh -“ he clears his throat in an attempt to steady his voice. “I’ll just leave you to it, then.”

But as he turns to go, one of Slade’s hands shoots out and closes around Dick’s wrist with an iron grip. Dick pulls against it instinctively but there’s no give.

“Slade?”

Slade just tugs him closer, until his shins are pressed up against the edge of the bed. Looking down at Slade like this, sprawled out on silk sheets, his legs spread wide, Dick feels another pulse of arousal shoot through him. If he wasn’t wearing his blockers, there’s no doubt that his own scent would be warming the room with interested omega smell. As it is, all he can smell is Slade and the intense warm-metal arousal of his heat.

“Don’t-” the word has an edge of whine in it. Slade swallows hard - Dick’s eyes jump automatically to the bob of his throat - and when he speaks again his voice is lower, more in control. “Don’t leave now, pretty bird. We haven’t even got to the fun bit.”

Dick’s mouth is so dry, he isn’t entirely sure he can talk. He tries to work a little saliva over his tongue, but it still feels thick and sticky.

“Slade -”

“Come on, Dickie. Let’s not pretend you haven’t wanted this since you were in little green booty shorts.”

Somehow, despite being on his back beneath Dick, strung out from one of the hardest heats he’s probably had in his life, Slade manages an insufferable smirk. His grip is hard enough now to bruise. Still, Dick tugs against it anyway.

“Get over yourself, Slade,” Dick growls, trying to ignore the flush creeping over his cheeks. So what if he’s always had a little bit of a crush on Slade? It’s not as if he would ever act on it. Not whilst Slade was still terrorizing people as Deathstroke. “Even if that were true, I’m not going to sleep with you now.”

Slade hums consideringly, his single eye half-lidded with sleepy arousal. “Why not?” he tugs suddenly on Dick’s arm, pulling him onto the bed in one sharp movement. Dick catches himself with a knee pressed into the mattress, his free hand flying out to brace himself as Slade keeps pulling. The position leaves him half-kneeling over Slade, his face hovering above the hollow of the older man’s throat.

“You don’t like omegas?”

Dick tries to straighten up but Slade brings one leg up sharply, tugging at Dick’s wrist in the same movement and flips them. The world spins past Dick for one disorientating moment, then there’s a soft mattress at his back, Slade’s weight pressing down on his hips and pinning his wrist to the bed.

Dick huffs in agitation. “It's not that. It’s...well, first of all, you’re _Deathstroke_.”

“So?” Slade hums, leaning down to run his nose up the length of Dick’s throat. With his scent blockers on, Slade won’t be able to smell anything, but Dick arches his neck automatically and Slade purrs his approval. “Your daddy runs around with the little cat all the time.”

That’s true enough. It’s just...Deathstroke and Catwoman are in two entirely different leagues of criminal.

“And secondly,” Dick huffs, trying desperately to ignore the warmth of Slade’s breath over where his scent gland is hidden by the blocker patch, “you’re in heat. You can’t exactly give informed consent.”

Slade laughs at that, loud enough that it startles Dick, sitting back on his haunches and throwing his head back. Dick frowns.

“It’s not funny.”

By the time Slade stops laughing, he’s out of breath. His chest heaves with every ragged, wet pant and, still, he’s smirking. With his free hand, he reaches up and strokes gloved fingers across Dick’s neck, teasing at the glands beneath his jaw, wrapping his thumb around the meat of Dick’s throat to rest in the hollow of it, a warning and threat in one.

“You think you could make me do anything I didn’t want, boy?”

Despite the threat - or maybe because of it - Dick shudders. And Slade is right, in a way. If he genuinely didn’t want this, he could stop Dick as easily as breathing - not that Slade is doing that particularly easily right now. He swallows hard. Knows Slade feels it against the pressure of his thumb.

“Isn’t that half the point?” Dick manages, squeezing the words out through his swollen throat. “Of course you want it. But you aren’t in the right -”

Slade bites him. The pain is sharp and sudden, a bolt of electricity shooting from his throat all the way down to his balls and his clenching slit. A burst of slick leaks out of him and Dick can’t stop the startled gasp he lets out. Slade worries at his flesh for a moment longer, hard enough to bruise but not to break the skin, before pulling back. He drags his teeth across the little patch on Dick’s neck as he goes, spitting the blocker out and grinning down at Dick as the scent of his arousal floods the room.

“We both want this, birdy. Don’t fight it. I want you to help me through my heat.”

Dick’s whole body throbs with warmth. He groans. His hips buck up automatically in an attempt to grind himself against Slade and the older omega pushes down to meet him, dragging the hard bulge of his cock against Dick.

Suddenly, Dick is aware of all the layers between them. He twists his wrist. This time, Slade lets him go and Dick uses the sudden freedom to reach for Slade’s armour, fumbling at the clasps with nerveless fingers.

There are too many clasps. It takes Dick far too long to finally peel Slade out of his uniform and the omega is no help, busying himself with running his hands over Dick’s chest and sides. The only aid he deigns to give is lifting his hips to allow Dick to drag his pants over his hips and thighs, exposing inches of skin with each slow slide.

Then Slade is finally, gloriously naked. It’s a beautiful sight, tanned, golden skin, every muscle obvious beneath a thin layer of fat, rippling with each of Slade’s movements. His cock hangs heavy between his legs, resting against Dick’s taut belly, half-hard but heavy enough that it hasn’t yet curved upwards. Behind it, Dick can see a hint of Slade’s swollen pussy, slick shining against his inner thighs, rosy lips peeking out from wiry hair.

“Fuck,” Dick breaths, reaching for Slade’s cock without even thinking about it. It’s heavy and hot against his fingers, but the material of Dick’s gloves keeps him from touching skin. 

Suddenly, Dick is desperate to be naked too. He lets go of Slade to scrabble at the clasp of his own suit and Slade gently pushes his hands aside to strip him quickly. How Slade is more in control of himself than Dick is, with his heat burning through him, Dick will never know. He feels dizzy with his desire for him. He can only imagine how the other omega is feeling.

“I want -” Dick starts, but finds he can’t articulate how much he wants Slade in that moment. Instead, he surges upwards, wrapping one hand around the back of Slade’s neck and moulding his mouth hard over the other omega’s. Surprisingly, Slade gives almost immediately, his lips soft and slack, opening easily beneath Dick’s assault. 

Dick licks into his mouth, growling possessively, fucking his tongue against Slade’s in a rough mimicary of what he really wants to do to the omega. Something about that must rouse Slade’s more dominant instincts, because he seems to suddenly come to life, pressing hard against Dick, sinking his teeth deep into his lip with a snarl of his own. Dick tastes blood.

He bucks, trying to jerk away, grabbing at Slade’s shoulders in an attempt to either push him away or flip him over. But Slade is an immovable weight above him and Dick knows that whatever leverage he’d had against Slade before was something the other man had consciously ceded to him. Apparently even a brutal heat can’t entirely tear away Slade’s control.

Slade growls low and loud enough that he could almost be an alpha, if it weren’t for the thick scent of heat radiating off of him and the slick dripping steadily onto Dick’s straining cock. Then he shifts his hands to grip Dick’s head hard, rubbing his stubble-rough cheek over Dick’s to smear his scent across him, bending low to purr right in Dick’s ear.

“You want to help me sweetheart? You want to make me feel good?”

Dick nods dumbly. Slade’s smile is sharp and he doesn’t release Dick’s head, just rolls up his body in a languid slide until his knees bracket Dick’s ears, shins resting lightly over Dick’s shoulders, pinning him down to the bed.

A hand pets through Dick’s hair. All Dick can do is stare up at the wet, puffy pussy hovering above him, the heavy cock curving up against Slade’s belly above that. The scent of heat is so thick that Dick feels like he’s drowning in it. The urge to press up and bury himself in Slade’s hot core is so strong that Dick finds himself straining towards it. Only Slade’s heavy weight over his shoulders keeps him pinned to the bed.

“That’s it,” Slade purrs. The fingers in Dick’s hair tighten until it hurts, his scalp prickling. “Help me out like a good little omega.”

Then he presses his hips down over Dick’s face.

Dick’s mouth moves without any conscious input from his brain, his tongue lapping at the hot slit pressing down against him. It tastes the way Slade smells: slightly metallic but surprisingly sweet. It’s a little muskier than the smell though. Stronger too. And Dick licks at the slick steadily leaking from Slade’s slit with an eager groan. Above him, Slade sighs. His hips rock just a little before stilling. The hand in Dick’s hair flexes.

“Good boy,” Slade murmurs and Dick groans again, forcing his tongue deep into the hot, velvety cunt above him, lapping at the slick there, groaning with every clench of Slade’s muscles around the slippery intrusion. He works with enthusiasm, moaning, his hands lifting to close around Slade’s hips and hold him against him. Not that he needs to - Slade keeps working his own hips against him, pressing himself onto his mouth again and again.

Slade pants heavily above him, breath hitching whenever Dick curls his tongue just right. Suddenly, he tugs at Dick’s hair, sharp enough to send a prickle down Dick’s spine, and lifts his hips enough to peer down at Dick. Slick coats Dick’s chin and he knows that his lips must be swollen with his effort, his own cheeks flushed and damp.

Slade’s free hand curls around his heavy cock and he shifts to press the tip of it against Dick’s swollen lips. Dick parts them instinctively, his tongue darting out to lap at the drop of precum beading at the head and Slade groans low in his throat. When he presses forward, Dick lets his jaw go slack, rubbing his tongue against scalding flesh as it presses inexorably into his throat.

Dick is no less enthusiastic about sucking cock as he is about eating pussy. Slade’s slick drips thickly over his chin and neck. His cock works steadily in and out of Dick’s throat, leaking precum over his tongue, wet with his saliva. It doesn’t take long for Slade to work himself to the edge of climax - no doubt sensitive and already worked up from the beginning of his heat. Eagerly, Dick presses two fingers to the slick heat of Slade’s cunt. Sucks hard at the cock in his throat as he spears his fingers deep inside in one smooth movement.

Slade makes a low noise in the back of his throat and his hips buck hard against Dick’s face as he seizes and comes, clenching hard around Dick’s fingers in rhythmic contractions, spurting hot come over Dick’s tongue.

Dick swallows it as best he can, gentling his fingers but not removing them, lapping softly at the head of Slade’s cock as he comes down from his high. Slade shifts his hips back enough to dislodge his cock from Dick’s mouth. When Dick looks up at him, the older omega’s eyes are shut, his mouth slack with pleasure. It’s an opportunity that Dick isn’t about to pass up.

Before Slade can pull himself together enough to resist, Dick shifts his grip to one thick thigh and uses the purchase to flip Slade back onto the bed. The mercenary’s eyes fly open and he grabs at Dick’s shoulders but it’s with none of his normal strength. Dick’s cock throbs where it’s pressed against one hairy thigh. It seems Slade’s heat has finally caught up to him.

Except, the smirk Slade sends him seems to suggest otherwise.

Dick leans over and bites him hard on the scent gland beneath his jaw - not enough to break the skin, but hard enough to bruise. Beneath him, Slade goes slack, quickly enough that Dick is sure it’s intentional rather than simply a reaction to the bite. Not that Dick particularly cares about that. He doesn’t need to force submission on anybody, least of all Slade.

Still, it would be foolish not to take advantage of Slade’s submission, even if it is on his own terms. So Dick settles himself more firmly between his thighs, his instincts purring as Slade spreads his legs to accommodate him. The shift in position has his cock sliding against the damp heat of Slade’s core and they both groan at the friction. Dick’s efforts and his own heat have Slade so _wet_ he’s practically dripping. All Dick would have to do is move just right and he’s sure he would slip right in.

Just the thought has his cock throbbing and his own pussy leaking slick. Dick presses his thighs together to quell the sudden urge to take Slade inside him - to fill himself up with that fat cock and ride the other omega until he’s satisfied. Any other time, Dick wouldn’t hesitate. But it isn’t him that’s in heat tonight. It isn’t Dick that needs to be filled up and held down and satisfied. Besides, Slade’s cock is still mostly limp against his thigh. With his enhancements, Dick knows it won’t take long for it to stiffen again, but for now…

“Do you want me to fuck you?” He asks, low and hot, againsts Slade’s scent gland.

Slade makes a sound that’s probably meant to be a scoff but ends up thick and needy. It’s encouragement enough for Dick, with the heavy scent of Slade’s heat in his nose and the slightly bitter oil of his gland against his tongue. In one easy movement, Dick brings their hips together, sheathing himself inside Slade with breath-taking ease.

The wet, tight clutch of Slade around him as he sinks deep takes Dick’s breath away. He stifles a strangled moan against the flesh of Slade’s neck and Slade answers with a breathless noise of his own, bucking his hips to encourage Dick deeper, tightening his thighs around his hips to pull him close.

“Fuck,” Slade snarls. One hand closes around the back of Dick’s neck, clutching hard enough to almost scruff him. “Come on, birdy.” He scrapes sharp teeth against the shell of Dick’s ear. “Fuck me properly.”

Dick’s breath catches. His heart is pounding frantically in his throat, in his ears, in his cock. His fingers are tight around the meat of Slade’s thigh and the jut of his hip, digging hard enough to bruise. But Slade can take it. He can _take_ it.

Instinct roars under Dick’s skin. Every breath is heavy with his excitement. He lunges over Slade to press their mouths together and they collide with a clash of teeth and tongues. Dick wonders if Slade can taste himself and the thought sends a jolt of arousal straight through him. He fucks Slade quickly, brutally, his hips snapping hard against the other omega and Slade claws at his neck, nips at his lips, and takes it.

Spurred on by the smell of Slade’s arousal and the clench of his body around him, Dick’s orgasm builds quickly. The wet sound of their coupling fills the air. Dick’s whole body feels hot and tense and desperate. He shifts his grip - Slade groans at the sudden release in pressure - wrapping the fingers of one hand in Slade’s silver hair, tugging his head back so he can nose at the exposed length of his throat. His other hand slips between them. Slade’s cock throbs against Dick’s stomach, but Dick bypasses it, teasing over the weight of his balls, drawn tight against his body, then further back to where they’re joined.

When Dick’s fingers touch him, Slade makes a small, startled sound. With how wet he is, it takes no effort at all for Dick to press a slim finger into Slade, alongside the throbbing length of his cock. Then, just as easily, another.

Slade snarls again, bucking his hips and the sudden tightness is enough to send Dick over the edge. A shudder rips through him. His prick strains. His hips stutter against Slade and then he’s throbbing inside of him, heat flooding around his cock as he pulses inside of Slade.

The other omega groans, low and excited, clenching around Dick as if he can’t help himself. He hasn’t come, though. Not that Dick is particularly surprised about that, between an orgasm not long before and the fact that Dick hadn’t touched his cock once.

“Knot,” Slade slurs, heat-drunk and teetering on the edge. “Fucking knot me Grayson.”

Which isn’t something Dick can _actually_ do. But, fuck, if he isn’t going to make this as good for Slade as he can.

So he pulls out, shivering at the brush of cool air against his cock, and immediately replaces it with all four of his fingers. Slade grunts but they slide in easily, Slade’s cunt practically dripping with slick. Dick pumps them quickly, trying not to lose the frantic rhythm he’d had earlier. Slade’s thighs close tightly around his arm. His breath is coming in quick, excited pants. 

Arousal warms Dick’s belly. Carefully, he presses his thumb in alongside his fingers. Slade gasps, rocking his hips down against Dick’s hand. Then Dick’s whole fist is inside of him and Slade is clenching hard around it, full-body tremors wracking him as he comes.

It lasts longer than Dick expects. Slade contracts around him again and again, shuddering and grunting low in his throat. Dick lunges over him, closing his teeth over the swollen gland on Slade’s neck, hard enough to bruise but not enough to break the skin. The body under him goes totally rigid. Then, abruptly, Slade’s whole body relaxes. The tight clench of his cunt eases and Dick carefully slides his fist out of him. It gleams in the dim light, soaked with slick.

Locking eyes with Slade’s, Dick lifts his hand to his lips and licks at the thick liquid coating his skin. Slade groans, throwing one arm over his face and kicking at Dick with one muscled leg.

“Give it a rest, Grayson,” he growls, alpha low and clearly fucked-out. “ _Fuck_ , I’m too old for this shit.”

Smug pride warms Dick’s chest. “You loved it old man.”

The arm across Slade’s face lowers enough to reveal his eye, bright with something that has Dick’s belly tightening in anticipation. “Give me a minute to recover, Dickie-bird, and I’ll show you a proper fucking.”

Well, Dick thinks, if Slade insists. Looking after an omega in-need is a good enough excuse to take the rest of the night off.

**Author's Note:**

> I have a tumblr at [bearly-writing](https://bearly-writing.tumblr.com/) if you fancy dropping by for a chat!


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